If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost.
Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren land; long heath, broth furze, any thing.
Strider" I am to one fat man who lives within a day's march of foes that would freeze his heart, or lay his little town in ruin, if he were not guarded ceaselessly. Yet we would not have it otherwise. If simple folk are free from care and fear, simple they will be, and we must be secret to keep them so.
But that’s not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have just landed in them, usually - their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn’t. And if they had, we shouldn’t know, because they’d have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on - and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end.
We have sworn, and not lightly. This oath we will keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renenwed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.
All that is gold does not glitter; not all those that wander are lost.
You can only come to the morning through the shadows
And this, our life exempt from public haunts, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
We are a plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures.
There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of Men for this treachery.